


existential contemplations are wasted on the blueberry boy

by Raven6229



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Drabble, Gen, about her badlydrawnfrance au, badlydrawnfrance, because apparently it has lore, hippity hoppity my brain was this plot bunnys property, syrupyyy-art
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-05
Updated: 2020-09-15
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:07:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26307544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raven6229/pseuds/Raven6229
Summary: In which France decides he sort of HAS to take care of the weird little duplicate that appeared on his doorstep.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 35





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> yo yo yo this is about syrupyyy-art's askbadlydrawnfrance blog! Go like. Go see that so you know what's what in this little snippet of words saying things.
> 
> https://ask-badlydrawnfrance.tumblr.com/

France did _not_ know what to make of the creature that had appeared on his doorstep yesterday. The little white imitation of him, only a few centimeters tall, wearing an oversaturated version of one of his uniforms from World War 2. 

Where did it _come from_ ? _What_ was it? Why did it _exist_?

Granted, that same question was applicable to their own kind-- immortal beings that, for some reason, existed to represent the people of countries. 

Those in glass houses should throw stones, he supposed. 

Still, it did open up some rather existential questions about himself. Was his appearance some sort of preordained form that the universe- for some reason- decided to parody? Could the same be said of his personality, of which this little copy seemed to be an exaggerated version? He knew the other nations had a tendency to see him as something of- what had America called him? A "drama queen?" Well, was that stereotype of his own person the foundation for this creature's tearful outbursts at the smallest things, such as France's shock at how his white mass of "hair" was in fact the same as his skin?

Or was it just a silly, childish copy of him that appeared for no reason that he wasn't supposed to question?

Given it _walked_ off the counter into the kitchen sink while Francis had been going through the refrigerator to find it some food, he would wager that metaphysical ponderings were wasted on this scenario. 

The little thing really was quite helpless on its own. Francis had found some spare cloths and a matchbox and used those to create a makeshift bed for it, only for it to get hopelessly tangled in a matter of minutes. Fending for itself didn't seem very plausible.

If he was going to take care of it, then it'd probably need an enclosure of some kind, or it may well walk right off the table. And something told him the cat wouldn't get along too well with it. 

_Was_ he going to take care of it? 

Well, what else _was_ there to do with it? Somehow he had a feeling that flushing it down the toilet wasn't an option. 

Also, it was strangely fascinating to watch. As it made its high-pitched squeaks and reached for the blueberries he had found in the refrigerator with such childlike zeal. It was almost cute, as long as he didn't spend too much time thinking about _what_ it was. 

A fish tank, maybe. That would make it easier to keep an eye on than a dollhouse or something, though the furniture from one might make for a better environment for the little guy. It seemed a visit to the pet store was in order.

Unfortunately, he didn't have a very good place to keep the tiny France in the meantime. And it was simply too _squirmy_ to try and pass it off as a doll or some such thing. Also, he wasn't sure he wanted to get the weird looks that would come with carrying around this strange creature. 

"Sorry, little Francey," he said, bemused, as he grabbed a large piece of plastic tupperware from one of his cabinets, set the little matchstick bed and some blueberries in it, then grabbed the creature by the back of its outfit.

Strangely enough, he didn't seem to protest too much. He just watched France with-- was that curiosity? As he set him in the box. Next, he grabbed a piece of thin cloth from his sewing materials, and extended it over the lid of the container. A bit of duct tape later, he had a successful enclosure for the tiny creature. 

It explored the empty container for a moment, but got bored the moment it noticed the blueberries and took to eating its snack instead. 

France took its moment of relative stillness to take a photo of it with his phone before leaving. He'd send a picture of it to England. Maybe he knew what it was-- some sort of magical phenomenon, maybe. It was as good of an explanation as any. 

He sighed and grabbed his hat and jacket off the coathanger. "Well, I'm off to get you a better place to stay for now. Be back soon, little Francey," he said with an awkward wave. 

Surprisingly enough, the tiny copy actually looked up at that-- when all attempts at communicating with it earlier had been a wash. Then it waved back, eagerly mimicking France's own gesture before returning to his berries.

What a strange little creature.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Francey's thoughts are NOT this complex. He just thinks things are more grandiose than they are. Enjoy this shit

What the  _ fuck _ was this ugly giant  _ thing _ that had put him atop the giant platform and  _ abandoned him _ to  _ die _ ? Why did it  _ talk weird _ ? Why was its  _ voice so loud _ as it took objects out of a giant white mystery box and set them in front of him, like he was supposed to  _ do _ something with the pieces of an orange ball or curvy yellow stick. They definitely had a strange odor about them.

"Ts'i ofod, ta letas rty ti. Ro do uyo tno eta rosgnase ro absanna…?" the creature had babbled. 

Incoherent, clearly. Confused as well. In the meantime, he was hungry. He needed some food. He would go find some food, while the giant creature was busy wasting time. 

So he, the intrepid hero, embarked on his perilous adventure. 

"Erweh rea oyu noggi?" the creature had said after pulling another mystery object out.

He didn't respond as he viewed the landscape stretched out in front of him. White discs and colored cylinders of all varieties stood in his path, none of which were edible, clearly. 

He could feel hunger gnaw at him-- he would need to act fast should he hope to survive. 

So, with heaving effort, he pulled himself onto the great white disc. He could feel it shift as he pulled himself onto it. Was it a trap, made to stop him in his journey? He would not be swayed, however, and so he ran to the end of the obstacle, hoping there, perhaps, he could find some sustenance. 

"Egt fof htta eatlp! St'i ggoni ot lafl!" the creature had shouted. It sounded urgent. Perhaps it was impressed by his bravery. 

Then, the trap was sprung. And he felt the earth tremble beneath him. He screeched as he felt himself shift and fall, down into a cold, shiny abyss filled with sharp spikes and valleys and chasms.

So this was his demise. He had a good run, but perhaps it was better he died a hero, rather than live long enough to be a villain.

And then, lo, security! Safety! Salvation! He felt the warm embrace of a savior, a guardian angel, catch and protect him from doom. 

Trembling, he wiped his tears and looked up to meet his own hero. The hero of heroes. It was, to his shock, the giant creature. 

"Itlte uyg… ouy eavh ot eb omer erafclu."

Perhaps he had discounted this creature too soon. Perhaps there was some stock in forming an alliance with it in his quest for food.

An alliance that bore fruit-berries-after a trip to another strange platform in this foreign land. Because, presented to him, was the treasure of his mission, excavated from the hidden lands, a blueberry. 

He took the offering, tears welling his eyes at the generosity of the benevolent creature. Maybe it was some sort of divine creation, here to offer him service. 

The creature had presented him the berry and watched him eat dutifully for a while before meandering off to do something else. He, meanwhile, simply ate. The berry was an absolute  _ treasure _ , so big and  _ delicious _ . 

Then the keeper came back with a new object-- not food, this time. It had been a small, colorful box with cloth stuffed within. 

Another trap? Well, curiosity got the best of him- such was his folly. He grabbed one of the sheets and felt it-- soft, pleasant. Then he grabbed another, and planted his foot firmly on one of the ones in the box, only for it, too, to spring it's malicious trap and slide out from beneath his weight. He squealed as the other cloth, the one he had been holding, betrayed him and wrapped itself around his arms, ensnaring him.

Truly, this was an unforgiving world. He feared this was a fate he could not escape. His body was starting to warm. Was that the strange trap, slowly digesting him?

"Areyll? Lyadeyr?"

Once again, though, his hero came to his aid and tore back the cursed material, picking him up and unwrapping him from its wiles and trickery. Then, he used one of his massive fingers to fell the beast, destroying its trap and smoothing out its trappings. 

Then, however, he tried to put him back in the monster. He screamed and held fast to the hand of the creature, only for his hand to shake him loose. 

This time, however, no trap was sprung by the beast as he landed in it, falling onto his side. The creature then took the cloth and set it on him. That warm feeling returned. 

Part of him wanted to squirm. The other part of him realized that the feeling was rather pleasant. Maybe, rather than some cursed beast, it was a nice blessing-- something to be trusted. He hoped so, because suddenly, his adventures got the better of him, and he drifted off. 

Maybe the creature wasn't so bad. Nothing bothered him from atop the fortress the creature had prepared him-- no beasts came to haunt him. Still, the precarious ledge had been daunting-- something to be feared, that may cause him great anguish.

And even for that, his guardian had a solution. A shield. One that encased him on all sides, letting nothing through that the creature did not deem worthy and safe. 

"Rosyr, lietlt Francey," the creature had said to him before picking him up. Perhaps the creature was protecting him, he decided, and had not protested. This turned out to be a wise decision, because within his shelter was  _ paradise _ . A  _ mountain _ of blueberries and his warm box were provided to him within his shelter. 

But first, he investigated. And sure enough, he tapped and pressed on the invisible walls to the shield, and they would not budge. It seemed his guardian had truly protected him. He could appreciate that. For now, at least until given a reason to believe otherwise, he decided to trust the giant-- those blueberries could only be a gift of the benevolent, after all.

"Lewl, m'i fof ot tge ouy a retbtre lpaec ot tsya ofr won. Eb kabc oosn, itltel Francey," the creature had said to him. Then he had moved his massive hand back and forth.

It was charming. Francey decided to return the gesture, waving his arm back and forth before returning to his berries. 

What a strange creature, that giant was.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have never written the nyos and it fuckin shows enjoy this shit bitches. just be glad i wrote this instead of a ten-page thesis on the literary merit of the 2012 lorax movie

Where could Francine have  _ possibly _ gone? Her legs were as long as toothpicks, and yet she seemed to be nowhere in the apartment. It was a big apartment, granted, but it wasn't like there was a lot of  _ hiding spaces _ . 

Marianne glanced at the grandfather clock in the hallway-- the conference building was twenty minutes away, but the meeting started in ten. She and Francis were  _ hosting _ the meeting. One of the main  _ topics _ of the meeting  _ was _ the strange, tiny creatures that had appeared less than forty-eight hours ago. And she  _ couldn't find her's _ .

She texted Francis. He'd have to start the meeting without her. Hopefully he could handle that much. She'd have to be fashionably late.

Unfortunately, unlike what the others were saying in their hellish group chat, her little doppelganger didn't make  _ any _ noise. So it's not like she could call for her.

Doubly unfortunate, the large dollhouse Marianne had ordered wouldn't be here until tomorrow. She had assumed the clingy little darling wouldn't go anywhere, but she had completely  _ vanished _ in the time it took her to run her morning errands. 

She had checked every cupboard and cabinet-- every little nook and cranny she could think of. She checked the balcony and the bed and even the sink and laundry hamper. 

_ Francine was nowhere to be found _ .

Now, she sat on her couch, head in her hands. Francine was so  _ small _ and  _ frail _ and  _ sensitive _ . Marianne had  _ decided to protect her _ but couldn't find her  _ anywhere _ .

Then her head snapped up as she caught the rustling of fabric in the corner of her eye-- her box of scrap fabric she used when making her outfits. Of  _ course _ .

She hurried over and threw back the top layer of purple fabric. And, sure enough, sitting in a pile of cut up scraps, was the little white miniature of herself. 

"There you are! Where have you  _ been _ ? We're late for the meeting! I've been looking for you for the past  _ hour _ !" She said through grit teeth as she grabbed Francine. "Have you been cutting up my  _ expensive fabric? _ "

A bit too harsh, Marianne realized. 

Because after a moment's frustration, she noticed how  _ devastated _ Francine looked. She was  _ crying _ , even. Silently as always, but there were tears nonetheless. She buried her head in her mit-like hands.

Marianne paused and regained her composure, taking a deep, calming breath.

Then she saw what the little miniature was wearing-- an exact replica of her own outfit. Bright purple cape, skirt, and shirt-- it was all there, all hand-crafted. She peaked in the box once more. Somehow, she had used the scissors to cut the brightly-colored fabric, then fashioned herself a small needle out of a half-broken staple. 

The needlework was somewhat shoddy by professional standards-- by her expectations for this strange tiny creature, though, it was practically a masterpiece.

"You made this to match my outfit, Francine?" she asked softly, setting the tiny creature in the palm of her hand, turning her to get a better view of the outfit. "Just to match me?"

Francine didn't respond, of course, though she did lift her head again.

"Well, it looks absolutely lovely. However, let's get you your own fabric before you make clothes next time, okay? You'll make a stunning little fashionista."

It was like flipping a switch.  _ Immediately _ , Francine's expression shifted. The tears vanished, replaced with a very wide and quite endearing, beaming grin. 

"Now come on, we're late. And I think the meeting will fall to pieces if we're not there to help Francis." 

Francine had no protests to that. She slipped into Marianne's shirt pocket without complaint, snuggling up against the soft fabric out of which it was made. 

Such strange creatures, these little guys were.

Very frustrating times seemed to lie ahead of them, but with that, she could also foresee a certain  _ liveliness _ she could look forward to.

The two of them finally headed out for the meeting. Better late than never.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> done with the prompts "sickfic," "water bottle," and "ribbon." this took me longer than it should have.

"Jesus, Francis. You sound  _ horrible _ . Did the economy fucking  _ implode _ ?" Marianne said over the phone, just loud enough to make the pounding in France's head worse. 

"If it did, you'd be sick too," he groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. "It's flu season. You know it's easier for us to get sick around this time."

"Sounds like excuses to me," she teased. "Anyway, I'm guessing you want me to come over and tuck you into bed?"

He snorted. "God no, not with this fever. Can you--" he broke off into a fit of coughing. "Can you just come get Francey and watch him for a few days? If I have to listen to anymore of his squealing my head may actually explode. And you know how bad blood is for the carpet."

"All you have to do is feed him blueberries. How is that so bad?"

" _ The squealing _ ." He emphasized. 

"Fine, fine. I'll be there in twenty minutes."

"You're my hero." 

He hung up and flopped back onto his sofa, covering his face in hopes of blocking out the world. Unfortunately, Francey was  _ still making noises _ . So, head pounding, France hobbled over to the little creature's spot on his counter. It was inside its tank, playing with something long a blue. 

A ribbon, he realized. 

"How did you even get that?" He asked, reaching for the strip of fabric. "More than that, how do you manage to tangle  _ everything _ ?" 

Francey squealed as part of the ribbon was swept out from under his foot, causing him to slip.

"Honestly," France muttered, fiddling with the thin, tangled ribbon. "I can't even imagine what you want this for." 

Damn his blurry vision and shaking hands. How did Francey get it  _ so tight _ ?" He grumbled and kept fussing with it when a sneeze forced him out of his efforts. The tiny nation visibly jumped.

Francis slumped onto the counter and stared at the little thing. It watched him with what was probably a curious expression. 

"One of these days  _ you'll _ get a cold and I'll have to take more care of you. How about returning the favor? I'd kill for some soup."

Predictably, the small France just squeaked and chirruped more gibberish. Although, him placing his hand(?) on the glass of his tank, right in front of Francis' face, was an endearing gesture. 

One of the cuter moments for the fleshy little blob. Francis sighed and stood back up. "I know, I know, you just want the ribbon."

It took him a bit longer than he cared to admit to finish the untangling job. Francey was tiny, and so were the knots he made. He seemed really happy to have it back, though. So that was nice. 

He jumped when he realized the time. Marianne would be here soon. The least he could do was make sure Francey was ready to go. He scooped up the tiny nation and his ribbon and placed him on the counter. A few seconds later, and he had pulled the container of blueberries out of the refrigerator and laid it open. 

He could feel himself getting nauseous, and he was still shaking. So he decided he didn't feel like fussing with one of those resealable plastic bags. Instead, he grabbed a teal, metal water bottle and, after washing his hands, placed a small handful of berries into the bottle.

After setting the bottle on the counter, he flopped back onto the couch before he fainted from the strain before a wave of coughing overcame him. He forced that down and decided to just. Lie still. Rest until Marianne arrived.

…

The fact that Francis wouldn't let Marianne in meant he  _ must _ have been feeling like shit. Instead of trying to get him up, she decided to let herself in using her spare key. 

Francis was  _ totally unconscious _ on his couch. She was glad she didn't knock too loud. A pile of tissues had already accumulated in a trash can by his makeshift bed. She tiptoed past him towards Francey's tank, grateful Francine was quiet from her spot in Marianne's jacket pocket. 

The tiny nation wasn't in there. 

"Francey? Francey!" She called, just above a whisper, in case he was hiding. But he didn't reveal himself. She pulled up some of his random items. There was no tiny nation to be found. 

Where the hell was he? There was no way he  _ climbed out _ .

Suddenly, she felt Francine tug on her clothes.

"Hmm? What is it, my Lovely?" 

She pointed towards the kitchen counter. There was a teal water bottle on it. One that had a thin, blue ribbon poking out of it. That happened to shift and move every couple seconds. 

"Good eye," she complimented Francine, patting the top of her head. She smiled and rested back in the pocket. 

Sure enough, inside the bottle, was a  _ very _ happy Francey lying atop a pile of blueberries. His hands, clothes, and face were smeared blue. 

She looked back to Francis, who was still asleep on the couch, then to the small nation  _ inside the water bottle _ .    
  
Had he put Francey in there  _ on purpose _ ? It was hard to tell. She was going to pick him out of it and put him in her pocket with Francine but, well. The berry juice may stain. 

Silently, she put a blanket on Francis and let herself out of his apartment.

A water bottle was a perfectly good vehicle of transportation.


End file.
